


why not me?

by Seeingredfics



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Bottom!Richie, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Top!Stan, they both top and bottom because this is twenty gay teen, verse!stozier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 01:34:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14843078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seeingredfics/pseuds/Seeingredfics
Summary: everything between stan and richie was supposed to be platonic, especially their secret hook-ups and longing stares.





	why not me?

**chapter one.**  

**_Dinner at 7:30 tonight? Meet me at the restaurant where we had our first date x  
_ **

Stan looked down at the last text message he received from Evan on his phone and shook his head, irritated at how sincere it seemed. He felt his eye twitch, and the collar around his neck had swear gathering underneath it due to his entire body heating from both anger and pure embarrassment, that or maybe the restaurant's heating was working overtime.

Evan had texted him three hours ago out of the blue, after the two hadn’t spoken in a couple of days due to Stan’s constant coursework taking over and Evan’s work schedule taking up his time, and he had never been more excited for a date until the moment his phone dinged during his and Beverly’s weekly movie marathon. It had given him plenty of time to prepare, or as Beverly liked to call it, get ‘sexified’. He could shower, shave, clean himself properly, and still have plenty of time to fix his hair and pick an outfit he knew his boyfriend would easily fawn over.

“We want to make sure he knows what he’s been missing.” Bev had told him as they stood in front of Stan’s closet, him in his boxers and her in one of Mike’s old football jerseys. She was a petite woman, standing at 5’3” with the top of her bright red head barely reaching above Stan’s shoulder, and she was the only one in the group who Stan allowed to critique on his fashion choices. She had majored in fashion design in college and was currently working at a modelling studio as a stylist, so there was no way he was going to ignore her advice, especially for a date. “You two have  _barely_ seen each other this week, Stanny. You have to look even hotter than normal.”

Stan had scoffed at her, putting his hands over his bony hips. “I don’t think hot is the way to describe me, Beverly. I’m lukewarm, at best.” She had rolled her eyes before grabbing a silk, cream button down shirt with two tiny black sparrows sewn onto the collars, along with some smart, dark skinny jeans. Stan sighed. “Okay, screw you for always picking the perfect outfit.”

“I didn’t decide to be in student debt for no reason, babe.” She smiled, and handed him the outfit before rummaging through Stan’s collection of shoes. Stan busied himself with with tugging on the jeans and buttoning up his shirt, slowly beginning to feel the nerves melt away at the feeling of silk flowing over his skin. This shirt was his favourite, without a doubt, so whenever he wore it he felt more comfortable than usual. It gave him confidence and a certain attitude that everyone liked, and that was the version of Stan he needed to be tonight.

“I was thinking maybe the one’s Ben got me for Christmas?” Stan suggested as he did up the last button on his shirt, the two sparrows almost connecting in the middle of his neck. He watched Beverly pick out a couple of pairs of shiny black shoes as he tucked the shirt into his jeans neatly, and turned to face the large mirror leaning against the wall opposite his bed. He took in his appearance; tall, somewhat lanky but with slightly toned muscles due to Ben and Eddie dragging him to the gym every thursday, long legs, and his fluffy hair, mousy brown with blonde highlights that caught the low light from his desk lamp. He cocked his head to the side, and then unbuttoned a few of the top buttons on the shirt, pulling the opening apart to expose his collarbones and the top of his chest. Stan smiled. That was better.

“I think you need to rock out the Gucci’s, my dear.” Bev sang out as she hopped onto the bed cradling Stan’s beloved pair of black loafers. He winced, staring at them as Beverly perched them on the edge of the bed so he could get a good look at them. He had only worn them out once, for Beverly and Ben’s engagement dinner a few months back, and since then he had never found a situation where he felt the need to wear them again. They were expensive, way too expensive for someone who was still paying off debts and barely got full time hours at his job, but he was proud to own them. But even now, Stan had to decline the offer and grabbed them.

“Not tonight, Bev. Maybe some other time.” He said, and walked back over to his shoe rack, hearing his roommate whine in return.

“Oh come on! You spent over a year saving for those babies and you  _never_ wear them. You gotta admit, it’s kind of the perfect time.”

“Hardly.” Stan scoffed as he placed the shoes on the top rack and made sure they were perfectly aligned. He ended up moving a couple other pairs around before feeling satisfied. “It’s just a date.”

“Uh, no.” Beverly huffed, folding her arms as she sat cross legged on the bed. “This could be  _the_ night.” Stan looked over his shoulder at her, raising his perfectly arched eyebrow.

“And what exactly is  _the_ night?”

“Sex!” She practically shouted, and Stan hoped his neighbors were out. “Oh don’t look so surprised. He’s taking you to the place where you had your first date, he’s been a complete gentleman for nearly two months, and he’s probably getting bored of not getting some ass.” Beverly shrugged. “And besides, it’s not like you’ve been getting laid recently, either.”

Stan nearly choked on his saliva. “Excuse me, little Miss ‘I’ve been in a relationship for six years’-”

She pointed a manicured nail at him accusingly. “Six  _very_ happy and  _extremely_ sexually satisfying years!”

“- you cannot be sure that I’m getting laid tonight just because Ben sometimes plans dates like that. Not all men are as well thought out and giving as Ben Hanscom.”

Beverly sighed dreamily, flopping down onto the bed as Stan grabbed some simple, black brogues, and sat down beside her, slipping them on over some socks. “And thank god for that, because I’d be sleeping with them all.”

Stan snorted and nudged her shoulder with a grin. “You’re so disgusting.” Beverly rolled onto her stomach, the jersey bunching up around her waist and giving Stan a full view of her underwear with power rangers all over it. She had never been one for lingerie.

“Just, you know, put on a little somethin’ somethin’. Spice shit up!”

“What? Like extra strong cologne? I’m not Richie.” Stan’s stomach flipped at the mention of his best friend, and he felt himself bite back a smile at the memory of Richie walking into his apartment stinking of some cheap cologne and acting like he smelled like a sex god. He smelt like garbage, and Stan had even considered hiring a fumigator to cleanse his home afterwards.

“Good god no.” Beverly made a disgusted face, and she watched as Stan tied up his shoes before learning back onto his hands. “Look, I’m just saying, make sure you’re ready, okay? Gay sex has to be planned, it can’t just be spontaneous.”

“I had no idea you knew so much about anal.” Stan said half-heartedly, although he completely agreed with her. You couldn’t just randomly fuck if you’re a guy, not with the amount of downstairs preparation needed.

Beverly shrugged, again. “You’d be surprised.” Before Stan’s jaw could drop in shock, she hopped off the bed and skipped over to his desk, grabbing one of the ten cologne bottles lined neatly across the top. “Okay, you need to smell perfect. Something that says, ‘I want it, but I’m not trying to act too desperate for it’.”

And now, two hours later, here he was. Alone, bored, hungry, and smelling absolutely fucking delicious, and with no boyfriend around to tell him so. “Asshole.” Stan hissed, locking his phone and dropping it onto the table with a huff, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Fucking asshole.” Evan was over forty minutes late, which Stan would have been somewhat fine with if he had actually bothered to contact him and let him know he wouldn’t make it on time. But he hadn’t heard anything from his so called boyfriend since the text setting the date up, and he was on the verge of walking out.

He was taken out of his thoughts, that consisted purely of every possible way to kill Evan, when a waiter approached his table. He was carrying a notepad and pen and Stan sighed to himself when he realised he really needed to order something other than wine, otherwise he was going to be asked to leave. And that, on top of being stood up, was embarrassment enough.

“Do you think you’re ready to order sir?” The waiter asked politely, then he glanced over to the empty chair on the other side of the table. “Is, um, someone joining you soon?”

Stan wanted to lie, tell him that his date was just stuck in traffic, but he couldn’t even find the energy to do that. He glanced around him before answering, noticing a couple of people giving him pitiful looks. He felt his face suddenly flush. They all knew, every single customer and server must know he had been stood up by now. Great.

“Uh, sir?” The waiter’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and Stan blinked at him. “We do have a policy here where you need to order food if you intend on staying for the evening.” The guy looked uncomfortable even having to say that sentence, and Stan realised he must have never had to say it before, or at the very least, he had to say it rarely. Stan gulped, and the sweat under his collar only grew as the seconds passed.

“I, uh...my date is-” Everyone in the restaurant jumped at the sound of the main door being thrown open and someone stumbling inside, panting and coughing as if they were out of breath. Stan couldn’t really see over the waiter’s shoulder, but when he saw a mop of dark curls bound over, it felt as if the air inside his lungs had been punched out of him.

_“Fuck, I’m so sorry I’m late, babe!”_  Richie Tozier exclaimed as he hurried over to Stan’s table and sat down opposite him, shrugging off his coat and trying to straighten out his shirt. Stan glanced at it, realising it was not the appropriate attire for this sort of restaurant, as it was an old t-shirt he had bought at San Diego Comic Con three years ago saying ‘may the fourth be with you’ across the chest, a small cartoon drawing of chewbacca printed on it. In fact, Richie’s entire being was not made for this restaurant; wild hair that probably hadn’t been washed in a couple days, dark circles under his eyes - speaking of his eyes, they were slightly bloodshot, and Stan was not at all sure whether it was due to sleep deprivation or the stash of weed he kept under his socks in his bedside drawer at home - and what looked like a mustard stain on his jeans. Good god. “I cannot tell you how bad the traffic was, my god! People in LA really don’t know how to drive.” Richie then leaned back in his chair and shot a charming smile up at the waiter. “Could I have a pepsi?”

The waiter, completely speechless at Richie’s overly dramatic entrance, swallowed. “Uh-of course, sir?” It sounded more like a question than an answer, but he hurried off nonetheless, leaving Stan to stare at Richie with wide eyes and completely dumbfounded expression. Richie, the absolute fool, looked none the wiser.

“So, what were you thinking of eating, dear?” He smirked, casually picking up a menu, and Stan wanted nothing more than to throw his cutlery at him.

“What the  _fuck_ are you doing here?” He hissed, leaning forward so other guests couldn’t hear his foul language.

“Um, trying to have dinner with you?” Richie scoffed as if this entire situation was normal. “But you don’t seem all that happy to see me.”

“Don’t be an asshole.” Stan’s voice snapped, catching a couple of people’s attention, and he took a deep breath to calm himself. “How did you even know I was here?” Just then, the waiter returned with Richie’s pepsi, and he hurried off when Richie downed half of it and told him to give them a few more minutes to decide on the food.

“Bevs told me.” He said. Of course she did, Stan thought to himself. “She said you and Evan had a big date tonight.”

Stan leaned back in his chair. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here, or why you sat down with me.”

Richie laughed but held his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, to tell you the truth, I was planning on doing something dumb like texting you some shit or making faces at you through the window or just, I don’t know, rub my dick on the glass type of thing.” Stan rolled his eyes. “But, then I saw you were on your own.” Richie’s voice went a little softer as he said that, as if trying to keep quiet for Stan’s sake. He greatly appreciated it. “You looked pissed as hell and Bev had told me you had left ages ago so I kinda waited to see if Evan would like, come outta the bathroom or something? And he didn’t-”

“Because he never  _fucking_ showed up.” Stan grumbled, and Richie nodded.

“So, being the absolute gentleman that I am, I swooped in here to save you the embarrassment of being stood up! Plus, I get a pretty amazing meal out of it. Brilliant, right?” Richie was beaming, and even though Stan felt a tightening in his chest at the gesture, the main issue of the situation was still there.

“I appreciate the thought, Rich. But…” Stan trailed off, feeling tears build up in the corner of his eyes, and Richie pursed his lips, realising what was wrong.

“Hey,” He said to Stan gently. “He’s a total shithead for this. You deserve so much fuckin’ better.” Stan sniffed sadly, but smiled nonetheless.

“Thanks. He...he is a shithead, isn’t he.”

“The shittiest of heads.” Richie grinned. “And I bet he gives shit  _head_ , too.” Stan giggled, and he smiled politely as the waiter returned not even a moment later.

“I think we’re ready to order,” Stan glanced at Richie from across the table. “now that my date is finally here.” The two smiled. The waiter looked rather relieved, and flipped open his notebook.

“Can I just get the meatballs and pasta? Extra cheese.” Richie said without looking at the menu. “Pasta and meatballs without cheese is just sinful.” Stan felt himself smile wider.

“I’ll actually have the same. And another glass of wine, please.” The waiter hasitally wrote down their orders, before nodding and heading over to the wine rack to pick out more rose. Richie whistled when he came back over and started to pour a large glass.

“Damn, no holding back tonight, huh?” Richie teased as the waiter finished and hurried off to alert the kitchen of a new order. Stan shrugged, and took a decent gulp of the wine.

“It’s been a crappy day, let me have my reward. Fun sucker.” He set his glass down just as Richie loudly snorted, grabbing the attention of an elderly couple a couple tables down.

“I only suck one thing honey, and that’s dick.” Richie said, sipping his pepsi. Stan barely cringed; he had known Richie since he was five years old, and there was literally nothing either of them could say that could weird the other out.

“I’m well aware. I heard everything that happened last Saturday with you and...what was his name?” Stan then overdramatically nodded and made a noise of recognition. “Oh, I remember. It was  _‘Justin, oh god, Justin, harder!’_ ”

Richie burst out laughing, slamming his hand on the table and startling some guests, as Stan tried to contain his own laughter behind his hand. The wine had already started getting to his head, and he was feeling pretty good now. Tipsy, but good.

“Damn, you must listen in on me getting boned pretty often if you sound that close to the real deal.”

“Oh fuck off, I’ve never purposefully listened.” Stan said, sipping at his drink and feeling his stomach rumble as a different waiter walked past with a plate of garlic bread. “You’re just so loud in bed everyone across our side of town can hear you.”

“At least I put on a good show.” Richie winked at him, and Stan wondered why his face flushed. Richie winked at him all the time, it wasn’t weird for them. It was just the wine; yeah, wine always made him hot and bothered.

“Well, maybe you can go out and get lucky tonight after this.” Stan said, tracing his fingers across the rim of the wine glass slowly, deep in thought, and not noticing the way Richie’s adams apple bobbed up and down nervously. “S’not like I’m getting any tonight.”

“Okay, forget about the dickhead. Seriously.” Richie said, folding his arms on the table. “You gotta loosen up, okay? Have some fun without some guy holding you back! Live in the now, Staniel!”

“Do not-”

“Your name is  _anything_ with a Stan in front of it, you know that.” Richie pointed at him and Stan closed his mouth. “Like I was saying, maybe you should go to a club tonight? Ya know, get drunk and grind on some dude.”

“Wow, that is the complete opposite of my entire personality, but sure, Rich. I’ll go do that.” Stan scoffed and Richie raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t wanna go to a club.”

“Then we get drunk at home.” He shrugged. “Simples.”

Stan weighed up the options in his head; sit at home alone and cry over the fact his sort-of-but-not-really-after-tonight-boyfriend never showed up for their date, that could have led to some possibly amazing sex, OR, sit at home and get drunk and or high with Richie and play video games and trash talk said boyfriend until sun rise. He let out a big sigh, watching as Richie patiently waited for an answer, before giving in. “Okay, we can get wasted.” Richie grinned and held out his fist for a fist bump.

“You won’t regret it, Stan My Man.” He promised, as Stan bumped knuckles with him with a chuckle.

“I’m holding you to that.”

* * *

“I bet his dick is tiny.” Stan slurred, blinking at the harsh light of the TV from across the room and hoping to god it wasn’t obvious that he was absolutely off his face. “Any guy who stands dates up  _must_ have a small dick.”

“Oh absolutely, that’s how genetics works.” Richie said, puffing on a joint before passing it to Beverly, who had her legs draped across his lap casually. “If you’re an asshole to cute guys in silk shirts, you lose a couple inches off the ol’ mini me downstairs. That, my friends, is the true wrath of God.”

“He’s just a prick, and that’s what you’ve got to remember.” Beverly said, blowing out a couple of smoke rings expertly. She and Richie had had plenty of practise throughout their highschool and college years, so smoking was natural to them now. Stan, on the other hand, didn’t smoke as much, and tended to still cough every once in a while if he wasn’t paying attention to how much he was inhaling. He was nursing a half empty bottle of rose, and had his feet up on the coffee table that was surrounded by beers that both Beverly and Richie had consumed throughout the night.

It had been a few hours since Richie and Stan had eaten, and the three had all agreed to just sit around their living room and watch TV, play video games, and just get as wasted as they possibly could. And so far, it had worked like a charm. 

“Yeah. I deserve better.” Stan said proudly and Beverly cheered, raising a beer in his honour. Richie took a couple more puffs on the joint before stubbing the end out and leaning back against the sofa, resting an arm behind Stan’s head and ruffling his hair.

“That is the attitude I wanna see!” He grinned and Stan dopily smiled back, making Richie laugh. “Look at how cute he is drunk, Bevvie.” Bev looked up and cooed at Stan’s warm face and messy hair.

“Like a little, drunken angel.” She said, before flopping back down and closing her eyes.

“Angel in the sheets, devil on the streets.”

“I think you mean that the other way around, dear.”

“Angel in the sheets,” Stan said, louder this time, as if to prove a point. “Devil on the streets!”

Richie snorted and covered his mouth as he cackled. Stan let out a few huffs of laughter and bit his lip, watching the way Richie’s eyes scrunched up when he laughed this hard. “That’s still not right, but you did your best.”

“I am the best. Better than you!” Stan said, poking Richie’s cheek. Richie pouted and side eyed him as Stan continued to poke him, jabbing his finger into his jaw and his neck and his cheekbone, before Richie grabbed it with his hand and dragged Stan forward so he fell on top of his chest. Stan gasped at first, but then fell into a fit of giggles as he rested his head on Richie’s lap, staring up at him. As the two had their moment, Beverly saw an opportunity to head to bed and took it without hesitation, wanting to call Ben before she fell asleep.

“I’m gonna crash, but you guys have fun, okay?” Bev said, lovingly kissing them both on the cheek before scrolling through her contacts on her way to her bedroom. The boys watched her put the receiver to her ear and her smile was evident in her voice once Ben picked up. “Hey baby! Yeah, I’m just going to bed now-” Her door shutting blocked off the rest of her conversation, and the two boys turned away, allowing her to have her privacy.

Once they had calmed down, Richie took one last swig of his beer before setting it down on the floor and letting a hand rest by Stan’s head, twiddling a curl with his fingers and smiling at the soft, content sigh his best friend made.

“That feels nice.” Stan whispered and Richie looked down at him.

“Good. You deserve nice things.” Stan opened his eyes that had slowly started to close, and he cocked his head to the side slightly.

“Rich?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for sitting with me today.” His voice was quiet and oddly soft, and Richie stared down at him. “You made me feel so much better than when I was sitting all by myself.”

Richie was, for once in his life, speechless. He blinked down at his best friend, wondering how to respond, when his eyes suddenly felt drawn to Stan’s lips as his tongue darted over them. Richie gulped.

“No problem, bucko.” He said and Stan snorted, giving Richie’s racing heart a breather.

“You’re so weird. Who even fucking says bucko anymore?”

“Uh, I do! And I’ll have you know it’s a perfectly good word to use in any sort of conversation,” Richie said firmly, booping Stan’s scrunched up nose with his finger. “Whether professionally or in the comfort of my own home.”

Stan stared at him and then narrowed his eyes. “You’re so fucking odd.” He breathed and Richie smirked.

“I am rather unique.”

Stan shoved his arm. “Unique is not the right word.” Richie faked gasped and grabbed Stan’s waist, dancing his fingers over his sides and making Stan squeal. “You asshole! Don’t tickle me!”

“Take it back! Tell me how amazing and unique I am!” Richie exclaimed and Stan cackled as he thrashed about on the sofa. As Richie tickled him, Stan managed to start rolling himself onto the floor and out of his grasp, wanting to run to his bedroom and hide, but Richie was smarter than he thought in his drunken state, and as soon as he noticed Stan was slipping between his fingers, he grabbed him by the waist and stood up, throwing Stan over his shoulder as if they both weren’t 6’1”, and carry him towards Stan’s bedroom.

“ _Richard Wentworth Tozier_ , you put me down this instant!” Stan scolded, already getting light headed as he hung upside down. He started smacking Richie’s ass and the back of his thighs in a feeble attempt to make him put him down, but Richie only laughed at him.

“That’ll only turn me on quicker, baby cakes!” He warned, kicking Stan’s bedroom door shut once he walked through the doorway. “You know I’m an absolute sucker for a good ol’ fashioned spankin’!”

“You are so fucking repulsive!” Stan screeched as Richie suddenly hoisted him back over his shoulder and tried to throw him onto the bed, but Stan relented and grabbed a hold of Richie’s neck, wrapping his arms around the back of his shoulders and hooking his legs around his waist, clinging to him like a koala. “Try me, bitch.” Stan smirked, and Richie just rested his hands underneath Stan’s thighs, holding him a little higher.

“You’re a brat sometimes, you know that?” He was grinning, so Stan knew he wasn’t actually annoyed with him. Stan merely shrugged, and tightened his arms around Richie’s shoulders.

“Only for you, because you’re just as bratty.” He said with a giggle, and then silence filled the room. It was uncomfortable, just odd for the two of them. They rarely stayed quiet for so long, usually arguing over something stupid or talking about the latest video games that came out that week, or some old comic book Richie had found under his bed, or as Stan liked to call it: ‘The Black Hole’.

Stan looked straight into Richie’s eyes when he felt hands moved up his thighs, cupping the meatier portions of his legs and gently squeezing. Stan took that as a sign to let go, so he start releasing the grip his ankles had around Richie’s back, but he was quickly stopped.

“No.” Richie whined, and Stan frowned at him. “I like this.” He replied honestly, and Stan swallowed.

“It’s...fairly comfortable.” He admitted. “You know, for a drunk person.”

“You think so?” Richie asked, moving from one foot to the other a little nervously. What did Richie have to be nervous about? Stan went quiet again, and wished he knew what to say in a moment as uncertain as this. Why was it suddenly so weird between them? Then, Richie’s hands moved further. The moment they started creeping towards his ass, Stan let out a shaky breath, and they stopped moving. “Shit, I-”

“Rich-” They both said at the same time, and they both giggled. “You first.”

“No, you go, Stanny.” Richie nodded with a soft smile, and Stan couldn’t help but look down at his lips. God, they looked nice. Wait, what?

“You...you were amazing tonight. Seriously. I can’t...even begin to thank you for what you did for me today.” Stan hadn’t even realised he was leaning further into Richie’s space, until he felt Richie’s ragged breath fan across his cheek. He froze.

“I can think of something.” The words slipped from Richie’s mouth before he could stop himself, and Stan felt his heart pound in his chest. He licked his drying lips and wondered in his head if he was going to regret this in the morning once he was sober, once he was fully aware of the things he was wanting to do right now.

“Yeah,” Stan whispered against Richie’s lips as he leaned closer. “So can I.” The moment their lips touched, Stan melted. Whenever he usually kissed someone, there were butterflies, or nerves, or anything. But this, this was completely different to that. He felt warm, safe, at home. Like, it was meant to happen. Stan’s lips seemed to perfectly slot in with Richie’s, and when his best friend sighed into his mouth and began moving his mouth in sync with him, every doubt fizzled away into the back of his mind.

_Sober me can deal with this tomorrow,_  Stan thought as Richie squeezed Stan’s ass with his giant hands, and made his way towards the bed. Stan’s back hit the mattress, and their lips parted for a moment. They gazed into each other’s eyes, as if both confirming with themselves and each other, that this was about to happen, before their lips were connected once again.

_Yeah, sober me can deal with this._


End file.
